


This is War

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Genetic Engineering, Genetic Freak Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutants, Party Boy Dean Winchester, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:45:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not so distant future and highschool AU. Genetic freaks, high school troubles, and events tumbling towards the edge of an Apocalypse.<br/>Hell yea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE: Who are You?

**Author's Note:**

> hi So this is an idea I have been working with and I will continue writing if it pleases y'all  
> I tagged a bunch of stuff I know will be a thing later on, but for now this is just the Prologue  
> A pilot, if you will. yep yep  
> I hope you enjoy  
> I will keep updating tags and shit as time goes on so..yisss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly modified, I hope it's still okay?  
> For those that have just recently begun reading this story, this is a prologue. There are still many things in the "past" of this story that are not revealed, but it gives you a background to the current..ness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah. So sorry about the editing. So so sorry. Anyways...

"The child is ready, sir."

Azazel smiles, straightening the lapels of his uniform.  _Finally._

 "The mother?"

"She is sedated back at the hospital."

"Good. She didn't cause a fuss, did she?"

"Medico says she was 'agitated' before they put her under, but she has made no attempt to go back on her agreement"

Azazel's smile widens. "Oh, Mary, Mary quite contrary. What a gal-- I hope for her sake she doesn't change her mind. And Johnny boy? How's he?"

"The father was told there were complications with the childbirth. He is expecting to see his wife and son by tomorrow morning"

"Plenty of time. Alright, lead the way, my good man"

Azazel follows the young messenger-private down to Sub Level H of the military complex.

Tonight is a good night.

They trail through a maze of poorly lit, chill hallways. They pass room after heavily secured room, all enforced by steel doors. The lights in the overhead fixtures flicker as Azazel passes under them.

After a couple minutes, they finally reach their destination. Room 667 H.

The private takes his leave. Azazel places his yellow eye in front of a retinal scanner; the commander's identity is recognized, and the door pushes open with a few metallic clicks.

Azazel blinks at the dramatic change in lighting: from dim and dank to painfully white, bright, and fluorescent.

Room 667 H is a fairly large laboratory. Very sterile. State-of-the-art medical appliances and tools are neatly arranged around the front of the room; along the entrance are a sink and counter.

At a closer glance, one might see that these apparatuses are not necessarily as legal or strictly medicinal as one should hope.

Azazel, (naturally unfazed by the sinister instruments) moves forward to the large working table at the back of the lab.

A dark haired man in a slightly stained labcoat stands nearby. He is holding a syringe and needle in one gloved hand. On the table beside him is a rack of vials, all filled with a dark, viscous liquid.

"Doctor S. I hear we're ready to roll. Everything is prepared?"

The doctor smiles at Azazel, dark eyes crinkling from behind the lab goggles.

"Just about, Commander. I already ran a few tests: this is definitely the one we're looking for. Everything according to plan."

Both men admire the little form lying silently on the table. 

A newborn infant quietly peers up at them. It doesn't cry or move, just blinks its sleepy little eyes. Azazel can't hold back a grin; 8 hours into the world, and the kid's already a strange one. Perfect.

Doctor S. hands Azazel some lab wear, in case things get messy.

"After I complete the procedure tonight, I'll need to administer a few more shots within the next few months. Regular check ups will be required to ascertain the process is complete, so I will need partial access to the child for the first 12 months of his life."

"Shouldn't be a problem" The commander slips on sanitary gloves.

"Unless Mary-quite-contrary decides to go back on her deal. When will the effects begin?"

"Somewhere around age four. I understand you mean to keep the child with the family, so as to minimize external suspicion. I must remind you that his nature will become noticeable past a certain point."

"All the better to set him apart from the rest. Don't worry, Doc, we'll keep tabs on him."

He grins at the sleepy baby.

"Are you ready, Sam? Are you ready to be different?"

Sam doesn't reply. He just watches.

***

The next evening, little Dean Winchester sees his baby brother for the first time. His mother is crying and Dean doesn't understand why, he is scared. He clutches beautiful baby Sammy tight, frightened as the tears roll down his mother's face. He doesn't leave her side for the rest of the night. 

***

Six months later, Mary Winchester is found dead, shot in her own home.  Her husband finds her lying in a pool of her own blood, lifeless on the nursery floor. Her infant son lays silent in the hands of her corpse.

***

Mary Winchester, nee Campbell, was an ex-government agent. Unsurprisingly, almost all of her comrade operatives were found in a similar state: shotgun kiss to the forehead. It was only a matter of time before this caught up with her too, right?

She leaves behind a freshly widowed husband, John Winchester: he disappears from all radar, dragging along with him a vast inheritance and his motherless children.

A renegade military agent with a fortune, intensive training in killing and covert missions, and a burning obsession to exact revenge on those responsible for the death of his wife?

The underworld greets its newest assassin with open arms.

***

Dean still has nightmares of that moment, all that red..dark red, soaking the carpet, cradling little crying sleepy Sammy, his father's tears and anger and what followed after, the pain and the fear...so much blood, was it his fault? She's gone...drowned in red and he hates it all and he doesn't understand.

All he knows is that he has to protect Sammy from the red..

It's his job now.

***

John Winchester quickly takes up a new bride, whiskey. She hushes the relentless screams of grief and guilt that echo through his wretched mind, sooths his pain and lets him sleep, lets him die for at least a few hours a week.

He bathes himself in loathing and drink and sin and anger. He is baptized, reborn. A new man. A dead man.

He fits in well in his new field. He makes connections easily, keeps covert, keeps hunting for an end.

John's investigations lead him to knowledge of an advance in genetic engineering. Military supersoldiers created to fight on battle fronts humans cannot survive.

He learns of freaks, rising in underworld. Mutants are not limited to pure-intentioned government needs: Deranged madmen, fucked up scientists that create breathing versions of their sick fantasies and set them free. 

But it's not just that, is it? A decay is spreading throughout the country,  a specific type of genetic freak let loose in the world, killing and pillaging and rotting society straight to hell.

All distinctly connected to his beloved Mary's murder.

Anyways. He kills men. He kills freaks. They all end up choking on their bodily fluids, one way or another.

***

Sam knows long, long before anyone else even begins to notice.

All anyone ever sees is a quiet, highly intelligent child.

At first.

The concern starts around age five. His father finds him standing in the bathtub, skin rubbed raw and bloody. When asked what happened, he simply sheds a little tear and apologizes for being dirty.

"I tried to clean it off, but I couldn't"

The seizures and nightmares start at age six. 

Sam dreams about violence, death, decay, suffering. As a small child, he describes seeing things in his own mind that would scar an ordinary adult, for life.

He also has fits, white outs where his body tremors and he can't stop seizing and his mind shatters into a thousand fragments of pain. He sees things during these episodes, too.

At age seven, Sam tells his father he had a vision of a man's throat being slit on a flower bed, dark red trickling onto white flowers.

Five hours later, John Winchester takes a man's life in the garden of a park. Dark red trickling onto white garden orchids.

It's a dark day indeed when you realize your son has premonitions of death.

Sam goes through a long string of therapists and psychiatrists and analysts and specialists and doctors and even a psychic or two .

Buried somewhere below John Winchester's fucking novel of priorities, between an unstable, clearly "special" younger child, a burning vendetta, bloodlust, and the eternal desire for alcohol, there is the one, small, barely significant Dean.

***

Dean Winchester spends his childhood obedient, compliant, though a bit rough around the edges. He loves his father and his brother and he just wants to fill the hole his mother left but he realizes he cannot. No one spends more time taking care of Sammy than he does.

They grow up very different people.

Dean grows up more reckless, a teenager with a charming, though snarky attitude. (With his father, of course, he is ever the good model of a son. Yes, sir.)

A clever boy, but not so interested in school as he is with women, drugs, booze, fights, and his knife collection. 

He hates himself so much it hurts sometimes.

He worries so much about his broken family.

*

Sam grows up slightly damaged, with the knowledge that he is different, different in a bad way, haunting his every waking (and sleeping) move.

He is very smart, and physically capable, but disinterested in the militant homelife his father insists on.

His sass is unparalleled by anyone.

He loves his big brother more than anyone else in the world, but the elder boy worries him sometimes.

 ***

A new home. A new school. 

General Kripke Secondary School, to be exact.

Dean's wears an expression of pure distaste; Sam is grim, solemn.

The two plow forward, into the ancient wooden doors.

 ***

Somewhere in the distance, two young men are lingering by an old oak tree.

The shorter one touches his own temple gently "Yes, ma'am, they're in. We're ready. We'll report back on a daily basis."

He adjusts his schoolbag and enters the building.

The taller one follows him, blue eyes wide.

He's not so sure about this...

***


	2. The Blue Bus is Calling Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite literally nothing has been changed about this chapter. For newcomers: First day of school!

A man. A soldier? The room is dark, mildew in the corners, cracked walls. He is chained to a chair, iron drilled through his wrists and into his temples. Face bloodied, blue eyes drenched with pure agony. He will not survive for much longer.

A flash of white, then..

 A concrete wasteland. Crumbling buildings, some reduced to nothing but ash and rubble. The sky is grey, bleak. Corpses are piled in the streets, mangled bodies meshed into chainlink fences. Limbs and entrails are strewn about like macabre confetti. A celebration of cadavers.

*

Sam Winchester breaks through consciousness with a start. He finds himself lying between bookshelves of the school library in some far off niche, (thankfully) hidden from sight. 

He wipes blood from his nose. The second vision is a reoccurring one, something that had been haunting him for the past couple of weeks. Vivid, but still weak. 

Getting stronger as time goes by. 

Sam cradles his face in his hands for a moment, steadying the residue of the episode. 

The first vision, with the tortured soldier, was new. Raw. Almost palpable. In the next week?

Sam's stomach wrenches hard; he fights the urge to vomit on the floor. 

Something about that man..

He collects his books, and heads out to the courtyard.

The soldier's screams still cut through his brain, echoes of some future suffering.

***

Under ten seconds. That's how long it takes for Samandriel to field strip and reassemble his pistol. 

He fights off an involuntary shudder. God, if there were only a way to forget...

But it's too late. He already knows. Protecting humanity, the world, the nation, that's not the point anymore. He's not sure if it ever really was.

He knows what Naomi is doing. Her drill, the white room, all those regulations.

He can't let on. Goddamnit, Samandriel, focus. It doesn't matter. Just do your job.

Others escaped, didn't they? Annael, Gabriel.. two of the most powerful military leaders ever known, and they just disappeared. Untraced, untracked.

Free? 

Samandriel grimaces. Hope is not a risk he can afford. He knows what happened to the others who ran.

He is alone now. Castiel has gone undercover with the others from the garrison, to deal with what Samandriel can only assume is the "Winchester" situation.

What is right, anymore? 

He grips his SIG Sauer tight, his only companion in this godforsaken situation.

He knows what happens if he fails this mission.

***

The right combination of stunning green eyes, a diamond-hard rock solid jaw, and six feet one inch of pure, unadulterated charm can produce a deadly weapon of mass destruction.

Dean "Colt's" Senior History class learns this the hard way.

***

"Ahh, why can't we just kill him now?"

"Damnit Zach, you  _know_  why. We're under ord-"

"Yeah, yeah, under orders. Naomi's lucky I have such an obedient little soldier to keep me straight with The Plan, isn't she, Castiel?"

Castiel doesn't grace this with a response.

***

"You okay?"

Sam shakes his head clear and takes a deep drag out of the cigarette.

In the dark corners of his mind, he revels in the poison slowly filling his lungs, flooding his bloodstream.

"I'm fine" he lies, offering the girl a half smile. Exhale. At least his body has stopped shaking.

"You're one of the new Colt brothers, then? I'm Ruby"

Enchante. She's small, and pretty. Dark hair, dark eyes. She seems nice, but secretive.

Sinister?

She reads Neitzsche and has a slight lisp. She carries a small dagger that fits inside her shoe, and a flask of God knows what in her school bag.

It doesn't take a hypersensitive psychic to sense that this girl is the worst kind of trouble.

Fuck it.

***

Dean rubs his eyes, flicking a pen between his fingers.

He wonders what Sam is up to. Probably already studying in the library, the nerd. 

The girl sits in front of him...Liza? Leanne? She's kinda hot. Smart, reliable type.

He's at least 90% sure she has a tattoo on her shoulder. Mmmm..

Dean leans back, cracking his spine over the back of his chair. He turns for just a fraction of a second.. 

And is suddenly overwhelmed by blue.

***

John Winchester slips the key into the ignition, fires up the silver BMW, and drives off.

Notes were never really his thing.

***

A woman with red, cracked eyes and foam dripping from her mouth claws at the wall with a sickening fury, some sub-animal, demonic rage. She is surrounded by the remains of her test partner, the front of her shirt slick with  blood and covered in chunks of his tattered organs. She emits a primal scream, thrashing against the glass wall of the room.

"She's in Stage Three of the Virus."

Commander Azazel smiles with pleasure. "Son, you are one hell of a scientist. So you're saying it's ready, then?"

The young researcher blushes with pride. "Yes, sir. Ready for mass contamination."

Perfect. Victory is so close he can almost taste it. But best not get ahead of one's self. The other side is getting antsy, stirring up suspicion around his perfect little weapon.

Time to break good old Lilith out of her cage.

***

Maximum security doesn't begin to describe the prison. 

Built to contain the most dangerous war criminals and enemies of the Protectors, it would take nothing short of a nuclear holocaust to break in or out of the facility.

The cell is made out of bullet proof glass and specailly designed steel that cannot be broken or penetrated by anything. A bright, yellow-white room at the end of a series of steel tunnels. Solitary confinement, so no one but guards ever comes near it. And the guards prefer to stay away as much as possible.

There is something about childlike psychopaths that makes them uncomfortable. Imagine that.

The area is clear now, silent except a quiet humming, like a lullaby echoiing from the cell.

Lilith sits on the floor, small smile on her lips. 

She waited for years, and now the time has arrived.

Patience truly is a virtue.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how I am doing? I'd love to know?  
> New chapter will be added this weekend!


	3. Eyes of a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up almost exactly where we left off last time. Mostly just more first day crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So! It's been a looooong time since I've worked on this fic. I just hope it's okay.  
> (P.S. Minor modification: Dean is currently in HISTORY. SORRY FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE THIS MAY CAUSE YOU)
> 
> Note on Bela:  
> Oh Bela. Some people love her, many loathe her. I personally think she's a heartbreakingly sad and lonely character (albeit I still hate her blatant disregard for human life when it comes to money).  
> So I'm going to give her a chance. Who knows, maybe with the help of a tall, damaged psychic, she'll turn out alright.

***

The bell rings, signalling the conclusion to first period. 

The shrill sound bitch slaps Dean back to reality: suddenly, he is aware that he has been holding the azure, unblinking gaze of Suit Kid for God knows how long.

"Uh..."

Dean struggles to conjure up a one-liner to minimize the severe awkwardness of the situation. Suit Kid does nothing to help the cause.

Shit. Fuck. DIcks. Gaaaah.

"Hey Dean,"

A gentle hand presses against Dean's forearm.

He turns to face Lizzie..Lana...Lauren?

LISA! 

"You've got Bio next, right? Yeah, me too. Come on, I'll show you the way"

Oh thank God. Saved by the belle.

Dean collects his books and follows the brunette out the classroom. He turns his head as he passes under the doorway, but Suit Kid is nowhere to be seen.

What the Hell?

***

"Ahhh. The bell tolls." Ruby flicks her cigarette stub onto the pavement and smushes it with her foot.

"So what do you have right now?" Ruby asks as they head back inside the East Building.

"My first class is English"

Students have already begun tumbling into the hallways. The loud, echoing chatter of their collective voices does nothing good for Sam's headache.

"Keating or Sinclair?"

"Uhh...Blake"

"Oh, right!" (she lightly smacks her forehead)

"Of course the book nerd would be taking "smart" Senior English. You know how to get there?" (Sam nods) "Good. Well, I'm off to Psych. See you round, Sam"

With a sly wink, Ruby traipses off to gain a better understanding of the human mind. 

Sam takes a detour to a restroom. He takes a moment to splash cold water on his face. His brain is still pounding, but the residue of the episode has worn off.

Sam doubts he'll have any problems for the next few days. He quickly checks the dirty mirror in case of another nose bleed.

Clean. His skin looks a little sickly pale, but that can't be helped.

Back in the halls, Sam veers right and walks through the traffic of students until he reaches a set of stairs. 

The school building is very old and very large. It must have been a convent or a Catholic school at some point, as Sam has already sensed the presence of a dead nun when he was at the principle's office.

(Sam is no Ghost Whisperer: he isn't bombarded with dead spirits on a daily basis. His three-way relationship with Time and Death is just....."complicated". And frustrating)

On his way up the steps, he admires a mural of a supernova painted across the wall. Aside from natural talent, the artist clearly put in a lot of time and painstaking effort.

Sam smiles to himself, then continues his trek to English. This place is alright.

He's on the third floor now. Sam double checks his schedule, then passes through the first door on the left.

The classroom is fairly sized, scattered with tables (where two or three people can comfortably sit). A good number of students are already in their seats, talking amongst themselves or sleeping or reading. Their heads turn to see what newcomer has arrived at their door. Sam meets a few curious eyes with a slight smile.

A very young looking woman is leaning against a desk at the front of the room. The horrifically unorganized mess of papers piled around her suggests that she is, indeed, the English teacher.

"Sam?"  Even in heels, she has to tilt her head to get a good look at his face.

"Good. Hi! Nice to meet you. I'm Je-..I'm Miss Blake. This is...the Class. Class! This is Sam Colt. He'll be joining us for the rest of the semester."

Sam gets the typical response: some waves and nods, a few lusty glances, the narrowing of wary eyes. 

Miss Blake smiles awkwardly at him. 

"I'm actually new here myself, this is my first week at this school. You're only a couple days behind, I've got a syllabus somewhere..."

The bell rings again as she digs through the hellish disaster on her desk.

"Okay, here you go. So we're starting off with poetry. You know, to get it over with, haah.."

Sam makes goes straight to the back (usually, he likes a close spot near the exit in case of emergency episode, but this classroom has a bookshelf at the back, so....)

He slips into an empty spot, right next to a well-dressed girl. She doesn't turn to acknowledge his presence, which is fine by Sam.

Here we go.

***

Dean has been on the same page of his bio textbook for the entire class (a large photograph of the effects of elephantiasis).  

This is not unusual for Dean, but it appears that this class has given up caring a long time ago. Half the class is asleep, a small group of students is playing a heated game of monopoly in the back corner, and the teacher went AWOL about fifteen minutes ago.

"Well, I try to look out for my baby sister, Ruby. She's a sophomore here, total troublemaker. Somehow knows everything about everyone, the sneak. But she's family, right? You got any siblings?"

Lisa Braeden is very chill. If Dean weren't still rattled about the staring incident, his game would be tip top.

"Mhmm, I've got a little brother, Sammy. He's a junior, but he's such a nerd he's in some senior classes too. Great kid, though. He's been through a lot."

What the hell was that even all about? Who was that kid? Where did he go? Is he even real? Maybe he's just a hallucination. 

But Dean is pretty not even his brain could make up that particular blue eyed tax attorney wannabe. 

"Aww. That's sweet. So listen, my father and stepmom are out of town this weekend and ..."

Dean suddenly finds himself paying strict attention.

***

_"Cas"_

_"Cassie"_

_"Castle"_

_"Caaaaaaastiela"_

_"CASTIEL"_

_"What do you want, Balthazar"_

_"Well aren't we touchy today. Just wanted to check in, see how the 'teenaged' life is treating you. They aren't making you do maths, are they?"_

_"You know I'm not supposed to discuss the mission"_

_"Yes, yes, but  Naomi thinks I'm a dear and you've been there for what, two months? I 'm really rather curious, so do be good, Cassie"_

_"Get out of my head, Balthazar. I need to concentrate on basic physics"_

_"Ah bless them and their quaint little minds."_

_"..."_

_"Castiel?"_

_"What"_

_"Is there something wrong?"_

_"Everything is fine, really. Please."_

_"You know you're a dreadful liar, Cassie"_

_"Goodbye, Balthazar"'_

_***_

The next hour goes by slowly, as is custom to high school English classes. They discuss Keats and Yeats and the fact that their names do not rhyme.

At one point, as they're reading through a piece called "Lucifer in Starlight", Sam's table partner accidentally spills her entire binder of papers onto the floor.

Sam bends down to help her pick up the scattered sheets. They are suddenly close, so close that her silky hair lightly brushes against Sam's cheek.

The girl smiles gratefully at Sam as he hands back her things to her. She pauses a moment, catching Sam's eyes in her own, before turning back to the work at hand.

Sam falls in to a calm silence, lost in the battlefields of his own mind.

"Soaring through wider zones that prick'd his scars"

After an eternity, the bell screeches once again. An orchestra of zippers and shuffling papers commences.

After Sam gathers his things, he turns to his table partner.

"By the way," he murmurs softly, placing his hand on her arm. 

"Next time you try and steal my wallet," Sam smiles, leaning in closer to smoothly slip out his wallet from her jacket pocket

"Try not to lose your own"

He pulls out a small, black leather case from his jeans and places it in her hands.

She's still with shock, staring at him with those wide, pretty green eyes.

Dean would probably take this opportunity to cackle triumphantly. Then flash a cheeky wink before swaggering off into a sunset..

Sam just nods goodbye and goes his humble way to AP Chem.

He runs into Ruby just before entering the classroom.

"Having fun yet?"

Sam accepts the phone from her outstretched hands.

"English wasn't too bad. I have a table partner and everything." Sam casually describes the pickpocket girl as he enters his number in Ruby's phone.

"Sounds like Bela Talbot. She's a bitch and a klepto, even though her dead parents left her some crazy huge inheritance."

Sam hands back the mobile with a smile. Ruby is totally risky business, yet he can't help but grin at her apparent omniscience. 

"I'll keep my guard up"

"You're lucky you've got me to look out for you. Alright, it's a half day and I've got a spare third period, so I'm gonna head home."

Sam waves goodbye and enters his next class with a smile.

This school is alright.

***

" _A fire of unknown origin..took my baby away!"  
_

Dean mock drums happily on the steering wheel of his precious. 

At his side riding shotgun is Sammy, probably bitchfacing at the magnificence that is Blue Oyster Cult.

A half day. First day of school, and already a half day- Glory Hallefuckinglujah!

The ride "home" takes about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of ancient, glorious classic rock. At full volume.

The latest Winchester (current alias: Colt) abode is a large two story house, situated in the nicer part of town.  Unlike the shabbier, polluted Inner City, this quiet suburb even has the luxury of trees!

The quasi-permanence of an actual house is a pleasant surprise: Sam figures he might even finish the semester of his  junior year here, and Dean is just ecstatic about a place he can pretend is a real home.

Dean pulls in to the driveway, regretfully turning the music off with the vintage vehicle. 

"You have a good day, Sam? Meet any babes?"

The question is rhetorical: Dean knows without looking that his brother is flashing his classic bitchface.

"Didn't have any trouble, did you?"

This comes out in a more worried tone than Dean intends, and the elder Winchester cringes as the words leave his lips.

Sam shakes his head, flashing his brother a sad smile before exiting the Impala and dragging his way to 67 Kansas Drive.

Dean bites his lip. Sammy's never been alright, and he's never been an open book. 

But that doesn't stop Dean from noticing things. 

He knows Sam hasn't been sleeping well, or at all. Not to mention the youngest Winchester's scanty eating habits.

There's always been something wrong. But it's different now.

***

Ruby Braeden:

{12:35 p.m.}

So my sister's having a party this weekend

Sam Colt:

{12:37 p.m.}

That sounds pretty neat

Ruby Braeden:

{12:37 p.m.}

Enough sass, moose. Your presence may or may not be appreciated then.

Sam Colt:

{12:41 p.m.}

I'll see what I can do

***

"You've made contact with Dean Winchester"

"Yes"

"...and?"

"And what, Zachariah? He's not the primary target."

"Yeah, but we can use him to get access"

".......I suppose."

***

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on canon:  
> This fic may have canonic parallels but do not expect sequences of events to unfold the way they did in S4 and S5.
> 
> Note on age:  
> Dean--19 failed a grade (from moving a lot, not from poor grades). Sam--16, 17 "this May" . Sorry, the boys are 3 years apart instead of 4 here.  
> Also, I only just realized, but I guess there'll be sexual content involving jailbait Sam. Will underage bother anyone? I mean to write it regardless, but if you're disturbed by it I can know to put extra warnings etc.
> 
> Let me know what you think, you beautiful people!


	4. She's Not A Girl Who Misses Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. Here's a long one. I don't know, I just don't know..

The contents of the Winchester fridge currently include: half a lime. That's literally it. The scanty lunch of leftover pitas was over six hours ago: Dean's stomach is outraged.

"Hey Sammy," Dean calls out, collecting his car keys and a handful of credit cards.

"I'm off to the store, want me to get you anything?"

Sam is in the living room, long limbs sprawled out on the black leather sofa. There's a book in his hands (what a surprise...) that he sets down as he gets up. He hands Dean a slip of paper.

"Your prescription ran out?" Dean bites his lip uneasily.  Sam takes various medication, for "migraines" and head pain, but only when his condition gets particularly bad. The prescription in Dean's hand is for sleeping pills, which means  Sammy has been having nightmares.

He hasn't said a word.

"Yeah, I..... haven't been sleeping well lately. It's nothing. Really."

Dean is still skeptical, but he lets it slide.

"Alright, anything else? And don't say fru-"

"Fruit. Apples, pears. And get me some carrots. And hummus."

Dean gags a little. Seriously, why the rabbit food? Just because it's "healthy" doesn't mean it's not an atrocity.

He grabs one of his fake id's off the counter-- dad's obviously gone and taken the Beemer on a job (without saying goodbye or anything. Classic dad), so Dean figures it's a good time to grab some booze along with the food.

"Alright, I'm leaving!"

"Good riddance"

***

Sam lies back on the couch and picks up his copy of  _The Idiot._  He stares at the words for a while, not registering them at all.  

He hasn't told Dean or Dad about the latest round of insomnia. Guilt gnaws it's blunt little teeth at his sides.

Honestly, he doesn't tell his family about a lot of things. Sam knows that keeping secrets doesn't make him any less of a freak, but there's some stuff he'd rather not share.

"Some" stuff. Okay, so a lot. Little discomforts and issues that Sam can work out himself, as long as he holds the safety bar and puts on his big boy face. Dean stresses enough as it is; he deserves better than the constant state of anxiety over his fucked up little brother. He doesn't need to be informed of every tiny headache.

Well, there are also some....slightly larger headaches. Events that Sam never intends to communicate.

But that's the Winchester way, isn't it? John isn't exactly an open book, and Dean? Dean's definitely hiding some serious baggage.

Right? Yeah!

Feeling slightly better, Sam props up his Dostoevsky and resumes the adventures of Prince Mishkin.

***

"What," Raphael's voice is frosty calm, his face set like cold marble.

"exactly do you mean, ' _escaped'_?"

The assistant before him has an expression that might be described as "terrified". She wrings her hands a little and takes a few nervous breaths before forcing herself to speak:

"Esther contacted me just now, sir. The cage is empty, scorched from the inside out."

Raphael is silent for a moment, thoughtfully running his finger along the mahogany  edge of his desk. The assistant can feel her heart beating in her eyes.

"How did she get past security? The facility should be in shut down right now, not even a nuclear holocaust could set her free."

A trickle of sweat rolls down the assistant's temple. Somehow, this experience is more terrifying than the war-criminal/ sadistic psychopath that is currently on the loose.

"There seems to be uh..." she falters a little under the intensifying glare of her superior officer.

"Security at J-Go is ahhh...has been c-compromised"

A spark like lightning flashes within Raphael's cool, dark eyes.

_Ahhh fuck..._

***

_"Castiel?"_

_"I am listening, Naomi."_

_"You have been closed off communications for a while, do you know of the latest course of events?"_

_"Balthazar contacted me right away: I am aware that Lilith has recently escaped the Jigoku Facility, along with six other Code Fire inmates. Security is dismantled, a few guards were slain. I have been waiting for my orders since then."_

_"Good soldier. Yes, we have some of the HOPE unit trying to track them down, but things do not look well at all. Azazel is moving fast, and much more efficiently than we anticipated. I can only hope that our coming attack will be able to return some of the damage. As for you: I need you to keep covert, blend in. Keep Sam Winchester in your sight, report back only crucial information."_

_"Yes, Naomi."_

_"And Castiel. Remember, Sam Winchester is dangerous, and tied to Azazel's cause in ways we still don't fully understand. Do not take any action that might jeopardize your life, position, or the importance of this mission."_

_"Of course."_

_" He may be a great threat, but he is not a primary concern at the moment. When the time comes, I will order him to be brought directly to me: immediate termination is too risky, and may be detrimental to our cause. Until then, keep your post."_

_"Understood."_

***

The next day, Sam arrives in Miss Blake's class a considerable amount earlier. It might only worsen the evidence that he is a hopeless freak of nature, but Sam actually enjoys having an advanced English course every morning of every day.

The room is empty, save a very familiar face at the back. She's got headphones in, completely unaware of her surroundings.

Sam makes his way to the back of the room and grabs a random book off the shelf before carefully slipping in to his previous seat. Pickpocket Bela is undisturbed, her eyes still closed and senses still clearly engaged in some secret sounds.

The book is _Frankenstein_ , and old, battered copy, printed long ago in the ancient time of the seventies. Sam has (obviously) already read it, but what the hell. He's got time to kill; maybe this time Viktor won't suck so hard at life.

He's barely two pages in when there's a startled movement to his left.

"When the fuck did you get here?" Bela demands, her green eyes glowering fiercely. Her voice is posh and English, a fact which Ruby neglected to mention.

Sam bites back a grin. "A couple minutes ago, sorry. You seemed pretty into your music, I didn't want to disturb your peace."

For a fraction of a second, Bela looks taken aback. She flicks her eyes down Sam's frame, nodding slightly to herself before extending a well manicured hand.

"Bela Talbot."

"I've been told. Sam Colt."

"Also been told. You're new here."

"That I am."

"Hm. What brings you to this corner of Hell's ass?"

"My father travels a lot. For business. So I guess I've seen a lot of Hell's ass."

Bela's pretty lips curl into a satisfied smile. She opens her mouth to say something else, but interrupted by the arrival of Miss Blake.

***

Dean is walking to his locker to get the geography textbook he forget, and finds that the hallway is completely deserted.

Now, Dean Winchester is not easily spooked. He's watched people die, seen horrors most people wouldn't believe. The stuff of nightmares. He's got a pretty solid set of nerves.

But here, in this cold, empty hall, Dean is overwhelmed by the sensation that _something_ is watching him. The light above his head flickers slightly and Dean feels a shiver crawl up his spine.

He slows his pace and steadies his breathing, wishing he had his piece on him. Not that it's a good idea to bring firearms to school, but this wouldn't be the first time he's had his life threatened in a public building.

The only sound he can hear is the pounding of his own blood. He stands perfectly still for a fraction of a second, then whips around and grabs whoever is standing behind him and pins them hard against the lockers.

He finds himself face to face with a familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes.

"You can't just do that" Dean growls, still holding the front of Suit Kid's jacket in his fist.

"What the hell are you thinking, sneaking up on people like that?"

Dean would feel a lot more awkward about the fact that their faces are almost touching, but his entire system is currently drenched in adrenaline and relief.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you," Suit Kid snaps, moving Dean's hands aside.

"You're not the only one with a locker here."  He takes a few steps and begins spinning the combination of a lock, all the while giving Dean a pointed glare.

Dean stares back with narrowed eyes for a moment until his body returns to a relaxed equilibrium.

"So what's your name anyways?" he asks, watching Suit Kid pull out an old school briefcase from his locker.

"My name is Castiel"

"Castiel huh? That's a mouthful. I'm Dean. Dean Colt."

Suit Kid-- _Castiel_ \-- rummages through the briefcase, his face turned down.

"I know, I heard your introduction in history yesterday. Pleased to meet you."

Holy shit this guy is awkward. But he's got an attitude, so Dean is compelled to persist.

"So, Cas-- can I call you Cas?"

"My brother Balthazar has a never ending stream of nicknames for me: Cas is the least aggravating"

Oh, Sammy could sympathize with this kid.

"Great. Cas. Is there a reason you're dressed to impress? No disrespect, just curious why you've got the permanent fancy Friday look?"

Castiel squints at Dean, tilting his head in a ~~n~~ ~~adorable~~ confused manner.

"if you're referring to my more formal attire I... didn't realize this would be such a casual institution"

Dean laughs, the purpose for his trek to the lockers completely forgotten.

"It's all good, the look _suits_ you"

Castiel's expression darkens and his eyes narrow considerably: looks like he got the joke.

***

_"Made a friend, I see, Cassie"_

_"What the hell, Balthazar? I'm on complete lockdown, how are you talking to me?"_

_"They didn't put me in communications for nothing, bless. Now explain to me how it's fair that darling Samandriel is out getting his wings fried off in enemy territory, and you're in Applied Mathematics, flirting with school boys?  Most unjust, I'd say"_

_"I'm not fli- this is a serious mission, Balthazar."_

_"Oh Cas, dearest, you are_ so _lucky that Naomi and Raphael are too busy plotting war and not catching Lilith  to have a good look inside your head. Positively scandalous, some of these thoughts."_

_"...."_

_"Come now, don't be like that. You know I'm just jealous you always get the fun assignments while I'm stuck here, bored out of my mind-"_

_"It's not-"_

_"Oh please. Your job for the next few months is to learn trigonometry and pretend you can't hold your liquor."_

_".....this is true."_

_"I know it is. Which is why you need to let me live vicariously through you"_

_"You're impossible."_

_"That's my boy."_

***

Sam's really never been one for intimate friendships, what with the constant travel and his unstable brain. But he's enigmatic, unobtrusive, intelligent and nice. And tall. He gets along okay.

Plus, he's got Ruby. She always appears out of nowhere, gifting him with pearls of guidance:

"The curly haired bitch that just checked out your ass is Amelia Richardson. She's so rude it's almost unreal. Like Meg is rude, but Amelia...be very wary. Her dog is pretty chill, though."

"Pretty sure you'll get a disease just by looking at that water fountain. I recommend you bring your own hydration supply if you don't want to die of typhus"

"The weight room is right over there. You don't seem unfamiliar with those types of places, I'm just saying.."

Her flirting is playful, uncommitted. This suits him just fine.

Honestly, as first weeks go, this one has passed by pretty well. Especially since Sam's been able to sleep without being plagued by horrific nightmares. And not a single incident occurs, not the slightest aching of the head.

Well, at least not until Friday afternoon...

***

Oh god. Oh god oh god no not now not now no noonono no fuck no shit god no please fuuuuck.

As steadily as he can, Sam gets up and approaches Mr. Fox's desk.

 "May I go to the restroom?" he asks through clenched teeth, forcibly checking the pain in his voice.

"It can wait" the economics teacher retorts without looking up.

The familiar taste of copper is crawling up Sam's throat and his vision is blurring slightly.

His stability wavers and he presses his hands against the edge of the desk so as not to collapse.

"I'm sorry, sir, but It _really_ can't"

Mr.Fox looks up, the annoyance on his features instantly replaced with concern.

"Your nose is bleeding.." he utters uselessly, and Sam has half a mind to throw up on him. His brain feels like it's being drilled with pins and he's really not in the mood for this shit right now.

"I have a migraine" Sam manages to force out. His teachers are usually fed some bullshit story about his condition, but evidently Mr. Fox didn't get the memo. The man looks like he's going to be a little sick himself; apparently someone doesn't like the sight of blood.

"Go"

Sam crashes through the restroom door. He tries to grab a porcelain sink to keep from falling, but his hands fail to perform the task. He lets his weakened body slump onto cold tiling.

Pain sears through his mind, red hot needles pushing through his brain. The sensation is almost literal.

He's looking at teal bathroom stalls, but also sees images of grey, damp walls. Blood that is not really there clouds his vision and Sam has enough awareness to know that whatever is happening is happening _soon._ Almost now soon.

The man in the chains from previous visions, he's screaming. Sam can feel the rods being slit into his brain, he can smell the stench of blood and decay and oh God let it end just fucking let it end.

As abruptly as it started, it stops.

Sam sits on the floor for a minute, with his hands pressed against his temples. He exhales heavily and relaxes his body, which has been tense for some time. Well, that was brutal.

"What are you doing he-- Sam? Are you okay?" a wavering voice inquires, and Sam shifts his head up to see Bela staring at him from beside the farthest bathroom stall.

Sam doesn't ask what she's doing here-- clearly she knows, just as well as Sam, that this is the least occupied restroom in the entire building.

"Uh, yeah, I'm good"  Ahh fuck. His hands are still shaking and there's probably blood all over his face. He would get up to grab a paper towel, but that would involve actual movement.  He smiles helplessly at Bela, who is wiping her face with the back of her hand and frowning down at Sam, clearly unsatisfied with this response.

Great. Every time. Can Sam go through one school  without freaking out in the presence of eyewitnesses? No. No he cannot. That would be _far_ too much to ask.

"Are you sure? Because you look like shit" Bela slowly walks over to Sam and fumbles a bit in the pocket of her leather jacket. She pulls out a clean tissue and drops it in his lap. Sam lifts his head to thank her, and it's clear from her face that she's been crying: her eyes are red and wet, and there's black makeup smudged down her cheeks.

"You're one to talk" Sam counters gently, pressing his hand lightly against hers as an invitation to stay.

She considers him a moment before sliding next to him on the floor and resting the back of her head against the sink. They sit in silence for a while, lost in their respective thoughts.

"So what's wrong with you, then?" Bela asks bluntly, blinking away a tear loose from her eyelashes.

Sam lets out a bitter laugh. That list could take days, sweetheart.

"I get...headaches."

"That's one hell of a headache."

"Yeah, well...what about you? Are you okay?"

Bela gives him a look that says she hasn't been "okay" for years.

"Me? No, I've just got a bit of an allergy. Can't get a handle on these damned histamines"

This exchange of shitty excuses is far more revealing than either of them is comfortable with. Sam and Bela eye each other warily, each painfully aware that some mysterious breach of boundaries has occurred.

The battle between morbid curiosity and empathetic respect for privacy is short lived-- with grim smiles they get off the dirty ground and go their separate ways.

Sam is so distracted by the encounter that he fails to watch where he's going. He almost runs in to a body walking from the opposite direction, and in the suddenness his mind goes black.

***

" _He is taken_ " whispers the abomination.

The boy's face is pale and his eyes are glazed and sickly. Castiel stares in surprise: he had not expected Sam Winchester to speak directly to him.

But he didn't. Did he?

"Who?" Castiel asks, but the boy shakes his head, as if returning to reality. He flashes Castiel an apologetic smile and moves forward, away.

Who?

***

No. Not "thank God it's Friday", it's really more like "praise each and every angel of the Lord for blessing the world with this Day of Frys". It's only been a week, and Dean is absolutely done.

He's not stupid. He just has better things to do with his time. Ugh. Whatever.

Dean sits restlessly in his last class of the day, Current Events. Around him, students are actively debating the prospect of a Third World War, but Dean is distracted.

His mind jumps from person to person: dad....okay, moving on...Sammy..he's okay, the little guy. Well, not so little. The bastard's taller than Dean now, ugh....Lisa! "Just letting you know, Dean, we've got a hot tub. Do with that information what you will, I'll see you tomorrow night." she's got a sly grin, mischievous like. ......and then there's Castiel.  He really is a saucy motherfucker, Dean has to admit.

He  doesn't have many opportunities to talk to Captain Awkward, but he never regrets a conversation.

Thinking of the devil, there he is, standing outside the door.

It's only for a moment until he passes by, but Dean sees a look of pure distress on his pretty features.

***

_"Castiel, where the HELL have you been!?"_

_"Not now, Balthazar, I'm trying to reach Naomi. It seems important."_

_"There's no way you'll be able to get to Naomi for at least a few hours. That's why I'm contacting you."_

_"Why? What is it?"_

_"It's Samandriel. They've got him."_

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people have GOT to let me know if this is boring. I'm seriously concerned. You're all so quiet and I'm so very fretful.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow sorry this was not Beta'd and I just read it over and fixed a few grammatical no-nos  
> please don't hate me


End file.
